by A. C. Wise
“I’m not that young.” Starlight’s words are hasty and the tips of her ears are red. “My mama gave me the talk ages ago. I know about…all that.”
Starlight waves a hand dismissively, but she doesn’t meet Bunny’s eye. A fist squeezes Bunny’s heart, once, and hard, before letting go. She breathes out. Then she breathes in, and Bunny lets her voice drop, her tone coming closer to its natural timbre than it has in years. She tries not to wince because it feels important to let Starlight see this side of her. This is Phillip’s confession, not hers.
“I was going to ask if you’d ever been in a serious relationship. I know it’s none of my business.” Bunny goes on before Starlight can answer. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Starlight’s blush fades to a glow, a frown turning the corners of her lips. The play of emotions, so close to the surface brings the fist back to Bunny’s chest, and this time it doesn’t let go so easily.
“Is this the part where you tell me to avoid making the same mistakes you did?” Starlight tries to sneer, but it doesn’t work. The tone doesn’t suit her. The underpinnings are still visible beneath her skin. It hurts. Because Bunny remembers what it feels like to be afraid and to lash out, thinking no one else in the world is afraid except for you.
“No, sweetie.” Bunny shakes her head. “I was the mistake. I know men like Kahuna and Boomer and Bad Kitty and Flash Jr., because I’ve been the asshole leaving a trail of unreturned calls behind. I’ve slipped out of more windows and climbed down more fire escapes than you’d believe.”
“But you don’t know anything about Flash Jr.” The minute the words are out, Starlight’s eyes go wide.
“Neither do you, sweetie. That’s all I’m saying. Just be careful.”
Bunny sees the instinct to protest, the teenage rebellion, even though Starlight isn’t a teenager anymore. For all her youth she’s probably a hell of a lot smarter and more grown up than Bunny was at her age, or even ten years older. It took a tentacle rising out of the sea, killing a man and ripping a dog in half, to wake Bunny up and get her to finally stop acting like a spoiled, selfish child. Starlight’s been a hero since she was seven years old.
It’s not a new thought, but it strikes Bunny like a blow to the gut every time. No matter how fast she runs, no matter how hard she fights, she will never completely leave Phillip Howard Craft behind.
“I’ll be careful. I promise,” Starlight says. She hesitates a moment, then darts in quick to plant a kiss on Bunny’s cheek.
For the second time today, she’s stunned beyond words, and it’s her turn to blush now. Dazed, Bunny watches Starlight leave the room, touching her cheek only once she’s gone.
DUST-COATED AND BONE-SORE, PENNY DROPS STELLA ON THE TABLE at Bunny’s elbow. “Well that was fucking pointless.” The safety is on, of course, but the sound of the gun hitting the wood has the desired effect. Bunny flinches and Penny smirks.
Some days are better than others. Today is not one of the good days.
Her fingers literally itch—something she thought was a figure of speech until now. She’s sick of asking how high every time Bunny says jump, and if she doesn’t shoot or punch something soon, it’ll be a someone who gets the brunt of her rage.
“You sent us on a wild-goose chase.”
“You didn’t find anything?” Bunny resumes her infuriating calm, the shock of Penny’s gun and the bluntness of her words already worn off.
Penny wants to shake her. Just once she wants to see their goddamned fearless leader rattled. Bunny’s mild expression is flint, sparked against the kindling covering the hollow space inside.
Penny knows it isn’t Bunny—it isn’t just Bunny—under her skin, making it itch like it wants to crawl off her bones. It’s everything. But if she keeps feeding the burning ball of rage she won’t have to look at the white-hot point of light fueling it.
If she stokes the fire high enough, it will immolate everything—the nights she wakes, sweat-drenched, from dreams tinted emerald green. The nights starburst explosions of gunfire rake closer, even after she opens her eyes. The fire will burn away the shaking, covers pulled high, jaw clenched tight, and scorch to ash those dreams that don’t even afford her the mercy of green-tinted night vision. The dreams where everything is clear and bright in the unforgiving light of day, and the only color is red.
It isn’t Bunny, but Bunny is here.
“The factory was empty. Even the bug’s body was gone.”
“Gone?” Bunny rises; Penny straightens as if she can match Bunny’s height, legs braced, hands on her hips.
Behind Bunny, the laptop shows an article about rhinoceros beetles. While she’s been crawling through dust, Bunny’s been sitting on her padded ass, surfing the web.
“Other beetles must have come back and collected it. That would indicate intelligence, an organized society. Maybe there are some kind of funeral rituals taking place.” Bunny taps her nails against the table, pondering.
“Or maybe wild dogs ate it. Or some sick-fuck collector is working on the world’s biggest shadow box display. We don’t know what happened. We don’t know anything.” Penny is breathing harder than she should, her face hot.
“Do we have a problem here?” The change in Bunny’s stance is almost imperceptible.
She’s standing the way she stands just before a fight—not holding her harpoon, but she might as well be. Tense and ready. Maybe Bunny can be rattled after all.
Armed or not, she has height and weight on Penny. But she’s untrained, and fuck it if Penny is going to back down from the hardness in Bunny’s eyes, even though she’s seen it make four star generals quail. Generals know fuck-all compared to the grunts on the front line.
“You’re the problem,” Penny says. “You throw orders around like you’ve got a fucking clue and you expect us all to fall in line.”
“If you have a better idea…”
“Ha!” Penny can’t hold back the barked laugh, even though it leaves her throat raw. “As if you’d listen.”
“Are you saying you have a problem with my leadership?” Anger creeps into Bunny’s tone, an edge behind the steel in her eyes.
It betrays her weariness, matched by a slant in the hard line of her shoulders—evidence of the effort it takes her to hold herself together, hold all of them together. Instead of backing off, Penny drives in hard.
“I’m saying I’ve fucking been to war. I’m saying I’ve fucking been a soldier and I’m the only one here with any real experience. You’re just playing dress-up.”
Bunny’s face goes white, blood draining from the blow. Her mouth drops open, a painted circle, but no words emerge. It’s just as well because Penny’s ears ring, and everything is bright and hot and tangled up inside her. She is directionless rage crackling like lightning, striking everything, everyone, within reach.
“You put on a dress, and it’s brave. You’re a goddamned hero standing up to the status quo. When I put on a dress, I’m doing what’s expected, I’m fulfilling my role. You know what happened when I put on a goddamn uniform and went to war? They still talked over me, looked past me, and when they weren’t looking at me and thinking about fucking me, they were looking at me and waiting for me to fail. If you ever get sick of people ignoring your opinion, you can take off your dress and go back to being one of them. I don’t have that luxury. I can’t stop being who I am.”
For a moment, Penny thinks Bunny will hit her, wishes she would. Blood, an ache in her jaw, would keep the words from coming. Because she doesn’t hate Bunny. And deep down she doesn’t believe a word she’s saying.
There’s a hollow place under the anger, a hole she needs to fill with Bunny’s pain so nothing else can creep in. It isn’t right; it isn’t fair. But she watches herself keep doing it. She doesn’t stop. Because if she stops…
Penny leans forward, daring Bunny to react, strike back. Instead, Bunny crumples. The smooth mask of her face collapses in on itself, and she breaks eye contact, something
Penny has never seen her do.
“Neither can I.” Bunny’s voice is so soft it’s barely audible.
The hollow space inside Penny fills with sickness so violently, she begins to gag.
“Penny, wait,” Bunny calls, but Penny ignores her, stumbling in her chunky, grit-caked heels to her room and slamming the door.
A knock comes a few minutes later, soft enough that Penny can pretend she doesn’t hear it. She holds her breath, jaw clenched tight and body trembling.
She waits until enough time ticks by that the Glitter Squadron settles for going to bed angry. Only then does Penny release something between a laugh and a sob.
Undressing is quick and efficient, like field-stripping a weapon—boots, dress, bra, panties, holsters, sheaths—everything in a neat pile on the floor. Without turning the light on, she examines herself in the full length mirror. The only visible scars are the ones left by the harpy, four perfect talon marks driven deep into her shoulder. She touches them experimentally, wishing for pain. But there is none, only the tight pucker of skin, smoother and shinier than the rest. And that isn’t right. It isn’t right at all.
M IS NOT SURPRISED BY THE KNOCK AT THE DOOR, OR EVEN THE HOUR. M is rarely surprised at anything. When the door is opened, Penny stands revealed in the hall light. She is naked and this doesn’t surprise M either.
“I need you to hurt me.” Penny’s voice is husked, raw in place of tears.
M steps back, allows Penny inside, and closes the door.
There are no lights on in M’s room. Illumination seeping in from the hall is just enough to show vague outlines—the handle of a whip here, the glint of a blade there.
M says nothing. M rarely does.
Penny squares her shoulders, back to M, waiting. There is a creak of leather as M reaches for a handle that fits perfectly into a gloved palm. Penny flinches only at the first blow. Whether it is the sound or the swiftness that startles her into motion is not M’s concern. Only the handle, only the lash, only the precision of each blow timed to each breath and the stuttering beat of Penny’s heart.
Every subsequent lash Penny takes in silence; she does not react again. Not until M stops. And then, it is merely a widening of her eyes as M steps in front of Penny so their gazes meet. Then tears frost Penny’s lashes.
M touches a gloved finger to Penny’s mouth, touches the same finger to the metal zipper glinting in place of lips. Wordless, M tells Penny what she already knows: No amount of pain will fill the hollow space inside; there’s no number of scars she can take onto her skin to dull the rage. She will have to learn to live in her body and mind because her world has been irrevocably changed. She will not heal, not from this, but she will learn to endure, and she will survive.
It is only then that Penny breaks. She drops to her knees, body curling in on itself, an endless spiral of hurt without relief.
Silent, M leaves Penny shaking on the floor, closing the door on her pain-wracked body. M’s job is done.
CECE LEAVES MADELINE SLEEPING AND CREEPS DOWNSTAIRS. THE Glitter Squadron house is too big; CeCe misses her apartment, their apartment, she reminds herself. Has to keep reminding herself. If it were up to her they’d be back at home, but Madeline insisted.
After the factory, CeCe emerged from the shower to find Madeline still in her white silk suit—the edges crisp, the cape framing her when she’d struck a heroic pose, white fedora tilted to shadow her face, but leaving a wicked smile visible.
She’d kept the domino mask on the entire time, even after letting CeCe strip her of everything else. After that, CeCe hadn’t been in much of a position to refuse Madeline anything.
So she’s here in the Glitter Squadron house, unable to sleep. And despite the shower she still feels half-moons of dirt pressed under her nails. Madeline’s giddiness at her first real mission should be infectious, but all they did was patrol the grounds outside the factory the first time, missing all the action, then crawl around in the dust the second time with nothing to show for it.
CeCe doesn’t let herself think this was more fun when I worked alone. Instead, without turning on the lights, she finds her way to the liquor cabinet, the one saving grace of the Glitter Mansion.
“Can’t sleep either?”
CeCe starts at the voice, but keeps from spilling her drink. Sapphire lounges on one of the couches, elegant in a sheer, dark blue dressing gown over a satin slip nightdress. She raises a long-stemmed cocktail glass in a toast.
“Guess not.” CeCe leans against the wall.
She still doesn’t know what to make of Sapphire, hasn’t ever since she showed up at CeCe’s door and gave her the kick in the pants she needed to get Madeline back. Even at this hour Sapphire is immaculately made up, eyelashes thick, lids outlined and glittering, and not a hair out of place.
“Trouble in paradise?” Sapphire arches a sculpted eyebrow.
“No. Nothing like that.” But the corners of CeCe’s mouth turn down, betraying her. “It’s just this place makes me itchy.”
“Tell me about it.” Sapphire pats the seat beside her. After a moment, CeCe perches on the far end of the couch.
“I don’t bite, honey. Not until the second date.”
Now it’s CeCe’s turn to raise her glass. “You’re a swell gal, but I’m spoken for.”
“But?” Sapphire prompts.
“Promise you won’t laugh?” CeCe studies her drink, terrified of what she’s about to say, and to who. But Sapphire helped her before, and like she said, they are family.
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“Madeline and I are trying to have a baby.” CeCe looks up, meeting Sapphire’s eyes, waiting for judgment, for a smart-ass remark. But Sapphire’s expression is grave, touched with just a hint of pain.
“Why would I laugh at that?”
“We… I mean she… Ah, hell.” CeCe drains the rest of her drink, running a hand through her hair.
She looks at the wall, because it’s easier than looking at Sapphire.
“We went to the clinic together and chose a donor. We don’t even know yet if it worked, but what if it does, and it doesn’t feel like my baby? What if I don’t love it enough and I’m a crappy dad?”
“Honey, listen to me carefully—genetic material isn’t what makes you a parent. If you want this, and it happens for you, you’ll make a wonderful father.”
CeCe wills the blood in her cheeks back down. The Velvet Underground Drag King does not blush.
“Madeline’s adopted, right? Does that mean her parents aren’t her parents? And Ruby was basically raised by her grandma and grandpa. Did an egg and a sperm make either of them who they are? No. It’s the people who loved them.”
“Yeah,” CeCe refills her glass, and after a sip, she tries on a shaky smile. “Listen to me, moping and moaning again. You always catch me at my best, don’t you?”
Sapphire takes a delicate sip. In the dark, her expression is hard to read. A flicker of movement catches CeCe’s eye as she gazes out the parlor window—a shadow crossing the lawn. It’s there and gone so quickly she shrugs it off.
“You won’t tell anyone?” CeCe says. “I have a reputation to maintain after all.” She lets her smile turn self-deprecating.
“As an emotionless hard-ass? Yeah, I know.” Sapphire drains her drink, but makes no move to rise from the couch. Belatedly, it occurs to CeCe to wonder why Sapphire is drinking alone in the dark.
After a moment of awkward silence, the softness of Sapphire’s voice makes her jump.
“I started hormone therapy.”
Light from the window highlights Sapphire in profile—her nose, her lips, the sharp line of her cheekbones. She doesn’t look at CeCe, making it impossible to tell if the brightness in her eyes is the light or something else.
“A secret for a secret, right? I haven’t told anyone else yet.”
“Oh.” CeCe breathes out. Sapphire finally turns, smiles, but it’s a fragile thing.
“I’ve got a reputat
ion to maintain, too.”
“Of course.” CeCe says.
She feels she should say something, but doesn’t know what. Her pulse thumps. Sapphire’s smile softens, the edge of sorrow tucked away again.
“Goodnight, CeCe. Sleep well.”
Feeling simultaneously dismissed and relieved, CeCe swallows. “Goodnight,” she whispers, before slipping back upstairs.
RUBY GLANCES BACK AT THE DARKENED HOUSE. THE LAWN IS DAMP; she should be cold but her pulse trips, leaving her flushed and her breath uneven. At a flash of movement through the parlor window, she hurries away, expecting the door to open at any moment and pin her in a square of light.
Bunny would kill her if she knew she was out here on her own. And Sapphire would kill her twice.
Sheknows she’s being reckless and stupid, but at the same time she can’t shake the feeling the giant beetle in the factory is connected to her. The memory of tiny legs ticking across her skin lingers. The shiver-hum, the buzzing warmth, as though she never took off the cursed necklace. She saw Bunny destroy the scarab, but that doesn’t mean anything.
Ruby won’t be able to live with herself if anyone gets hurt on her account.
If this is her fault somehow, because of the necklace, then tonight is her chance to set things right, and she’ll do it without putting anyone else in danger this time.
Sapphire and Bunny will never know, and Ruby will sleep sound knowing she did everything she could to protect them.
Dense woods untouched by developers occupy the lot across the street from the Glitter Squadron property. Moonlight touches only the slender trunks closest to the road, penetrating no further. Anything could be lurking there, but Ruby convinces herself it’s not.
She steps toward the trees. There’s a hissing squeak, and she lets out a squeak of her own, reeling backward. Her heel catches on the lip of asphalt, dropping her hard. The sound rises from a hiss to a rattle, and a beetle bursts forth from the trees, shaking its wings. It feints, trying to scare her off, coming close enough that its legs snag strands of her hair.